The Essence of Heroism
by Daughter of Rivia
Summary: Twelve-year-old Henry Queen survived the shipwreck of the Queen's Gambit, and the horror's of Lian Yu only to return home five years later along with his brother Oliver. But Oliver and Henry have secrets, even from each other. Oliver may wear the hood to honour Yao Fei and his to fight for his father's crusade, but Henry's swords honour a very different teacher...
1. Returning Home a Stranger

**Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, DC Comics or affiliates**.

 **Chapter One: Returning Home a Stranger**

* * *

' **Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.'  
\- Henry David Thoreau**

* * *

 **Present**

"You are certain?" the words made their way out of Moira's lips of their own accord, and quite against her will.

The pitying glance of the Chinese ambassador made Moira wish he mother hadn't raised her better if only to wipe the look from the woman's face for good.

"We are certain Mrs. Queen." The woman was young, possibly in her mid-thirties but with the kind of complexion which allowed her to be mistaken for much younger than she was. Dressed formally in a dark-grey pencil-skirt and orange blouse, her nails meticulously manicured, but her demeanour almost dared anyone to mess with her.

"And the tests all came back positive." It was more a statement than a question.

"Both Henry and Oliver were given blood and DNA testing, they are your children Mrs. Queen."

"How soon can they be home?"

The ambassador, who had introduced herself as Ambassador Worth, frowned momentarily.

"You must understand Moira, that Oliver spent five years alone on an island and Henry suffered severe trauma which affected his memory considerably-"

"I am well aware of how long my children were considered dead, Miss Worth, you need not remind me." Moira snapped.

Ambassador Worth didn't even flinch "I understand this is difficult, but I am doing my best to help you and your family, Mrs. Queen, and I can't do that if you take your anger out on me."

"I apologise if I offended you," Moira conceded through clenched teeth "but please, just tell me when my children will be coming home to me."

"Henry has spent nearly two years living with a family in Hong Kong, and proved to be well enough to travel within the next few days of his assessment, he will arrive here in Starling later today." Ambassador Worth paused "You must understand Mrs. Queen that this is highly unusual, for an American to live without a visa in China and for a family simply to take him in without question, it's unheard of. The Chinese government are not happy with this development."

"They want to arrest my son?" Moira's incredulity was unmatched.

"No, after vigorous investigation they are not pressing charges, likely your son's memory loss factored into that. There is however other causes for concern." The ambassador handed Moira a manila folder "Your son's medical records, detailing his condition. His therapy sessions and police reports are included with his permission."

Moira took the folder, her hands trembling unexpectedly as she opened it. The photographs were horrific, all swollen and distorted hues of purple and blue that morphed her child's face into a twisted mockery of what it once was. The records documented that his right eye had been pierced by a foreign object, which upon removal had proven to be a broken arrow. Along with his eye he had a second arrow embedded in his chest that had missed his heart by an inch. He was found comatose on the shores of _Lian Yu_ , two years before Oliver had been found there. Desperately Moira read through the file, hoping beyond anything that Oliver had not caused these injuries and that her eldest son had not tried to murder his brother.

It was about half way through the file, passing daily observations and bandage change records that she came across the detailed report of an experimental eye transplant, performed just under a year ago. A artificially created eye, grown using her son's DNA. She'd only ever heard whispers of such a feat from STAR labs, but that was all she thought they were, whispers. The proof stared back at her in the form of a single blue eye, settled into the swollen face of her youngest son. No longer did her own eyes sit in the face of a boy who resembled his father an unsettling amount, now he bore only one beautiful green eye, the other a harsh and unyielding blue, that could only belong to one other person; Malcolm Merlyn. It wouldn't surprise her if he had something to do with this.

Her fears for Oliver's involvement were slightly appeased when Henry's police interviews, (helpfully translated by the ambassador) revealed that he remembered that there were once other people on the island apart from himself and Oliver. But he had only made a full recovery within the last year, search expeditions were sent out every month, looking for Oliver, finally reaching him three days ago.

"You may of course keep these copies." The ambassador remarked "I feel obligated to inform you that the Chinese government has searched the island of _Lian Yu_ and found evidence of a previous mercenary occupation, who are most likely to blame or your sons' injuries."

The ambassador unpacked a single document from her briefcase "This is a document releasing Henry Queen back into your care as his primary guardian. If you could sign here, and here." She motioned to two boxes. "Henry will arrive home shortly, I took a flight ahead of his own to ensure the transition went smoothly."

She stood from her chair gracefully, and straitened her skirt before shouldering her briefcase. "Oliver's return depends entirely on his health, but I can tell you that if he gets the all clear you can expect his homecoming within a few days. Congratulations Mrs. Queen, your children are coming home."

Moira shook the ambassador's hand, and dutifully showed her to the door, all the while clutching the folder she had been given like a lifeline. Before the _Gambit_ went down, Henry had been such a happy child, so full of life. He'd been unexpected, he ultrasound had only shown Thea throughout her pregnancy so when she had given birth to Henry as well it had been a happy surprise. It had been different with Henry, Thea being a girl needed a different approach that Oliver couldn't have prepared her for and she had accepted that fact from teh moment she was told she would be having a girl. But Henry, was so different from Oliver. Quiet, reserved but mischievous when he wanted to be, he was intelligent and driven even as a child. Sometimes she feared that drive, what it would reveal about him as he grew older. But she couldn't deny that she loved him utterly and completely without condition.

Henry had been so clever- no- was _still_ so clever. Throughout school he had maintained consistently good grades, but she had often been told by his teachers that he was incredibly demanding at times, constantly questioning what he was being taught with a stubborn determination that refused to die down even as her grew older. As much as she would have liked to blame Malcolm for that, she was certain that he'd gotten it from her.

It was the same determination that had led him to enrol in Mandarin in school, while Thea had chosen to take Spanish. While Thea proved to have little interest or time for languages, Henry had excelled. The level of proficiency he had shown and his enthusiasm for the subject led to his begging Robert to join him on the trip to China. And Robert had agreed. A week later and she received the news that shattered her world, the news that tore apart her perfect life and left her at the mercy of Malcolm Merlyn. _The Queen's Gambit_ had sunk, killing everyone on board.

She could remember the terror she felt when Malcolm had questioned her, had told her that he _knew_ and the darkness she saw in his eyes when Henry was declared dead along with Oliver, Robert and the crew of the Queen's Gambit. She had never kept Thea as close to her as she had in the month that followed. When it looked that Malcolm wouldn't be stealing her daughter away in the middle of the night, Moira had lost herself to her grief. It was only with the intervention of Walter Steele that her life began to have warmth again.

Moira sat in her spacious living room, that only served to reming her how empty the Queen Mansion was with over half of the family missing, and stared at the latest photographs of Henry, no longer the little boy she had kissed goodbye to on the deck of the pier, but now a young man who had survived hell, and come out the other side. The young man in the photographs, with a serious mien, defined, corded muscles and an intelligence in his green and blue eyes that was too close to Malcolm Merlyn's was definitely not the boy she had lost. His hair had only grown darker over the years and now reached his chin. There were pictures of him with a Chinese family, whom she had been informed had raised him as their own while he recovered from his trauma.

The family who had taken in a young boy with little memory as to who he was, and had helped him to heal, helped him to remember and helped him come home to be with her and their family. She hated them as much as she loved them. She hated the family who had witnessed the growth of her child into an intelligent young man, who she was told, had been presented with joint ownership of the _Wu Kwan_ , the martial arts school the mother ran, her son had been a teacher there for little over a year. The mother, the title filled her with both longing and envy.

Moira's coffee had long since gone cold, but she drank the liquid rapidly, desperate for a distraction and in dire need of caffeine. The smaller folder was Oliver's, and on an inconspicuous green post-it note lay the number of Oliver's temporary phone. Just as she was about to type the numbers into her own phone, and connect with her eldest child, the ring of the tasteful doorbell she'd had installed last year echoed throughout the foyer of the mansion.

Moira rushed with the speed her designer heels allowed, flung open the door, (ignoring for a moment the impropriety of opening one's own door) and took in the form of her beautiful boy. Age had given him a height and build which he had never possessed and experience had allowed a cool and commanding confidence that she had only ever seen exuded by one other person; Henry and Thea's biological father. On his shoulder lay a single duffle bag, scuffed and worn of an apparent military issue, and his clothes reflected that theme; minimalist, functional, as if he were heading to war.

"Hi Mom." His voice had a huskiness that had never been there before, and a quietness which had never defined him.

"Henry." She gasped desperately before pulling him into her arms, steadfast in her determination never to let him go again. If she noticed the unintentional recoil that Henry displayed upon her touch, she never spoke of it, and if she saw his hands twitch as if going for a weapon she never mentioned it. But the driver, who had returned from placing Mr. Queen's bag at the foot of the stairs for the maid to take to his room, saw everything and resolved that everything was not quite as it seemed with Henry Queen. He left the mansion shortly after, his resignation tendered by email.

The sound of something heavy hitting the bottom step of the wooden staircase broke apart the embracing mother and son. Thea Queen stared desperately at the young man in the foyer, his colouring so like her own. She had slept through the meeting with the ambassador, by chance rather than any malicious intent, but seeing him now, alive and so very real, it didn't matter to her about folders and procedures and paper-signing, her brother was _here_.

Ignoring her mother's protests, she ran to him and embraced him for the first time in five years. Her other half, they were inseparable as children, with Oliver so much older than them it had often been difficult to spend time with the older boy, Oliver loved his siblings unconditionally there was no doubt about it, but he wasn't able to be their peer. Thea and Henry had been other's best friend, confidant and playmate from birth to the age of twelve. Henry's loss revealed how insular they had been, Thea had never had to make friends, content with Henry and to some extent Oliver too, but when the Gambit went down, everything changed. The world no longer made sense, the rules were different and Thea had been forced to figure them out on her own.

Seeing him now, none of that mattered, none of the pain and the heartache, the booze and the drugs were irrelevant. He was home, he was _her_ home and she'd make damn sure that he would never leave again. Soon enough Ollie would be home too, and their family would be together again, even if it was without the pin that tied it together; their father, Robert Queen.

"Hey Thea." God she would never get used to hearing his voice deep, he was still squeaky and pitched when he left on the Gambit, and now he had one of those serious voices, husky and calm. The kind you'd imagine singing country music with whisky and cigarettes.

"Heard you got a new family, was your new sister as pretty as me?" the quirk of her eyebrow revealed her teasing intent but Moira scolded her regardless.

"Stop it, Thea!"

Henry's lips twitched, how odd, didn't he smile anymore? Though humour didn't quite fill his eyes with warmth, they were a little less cold than they had been before. Thea smiled, small victories but a victory regardless.

"No sisters I'm afraid," He half smiled "Brothers, both older- one studying law the other in training to be a doctor."

"How'd you get 'kung-fu-guru' from law student and doctor-wannabe?" Thea scrunched her face in deliberate mocking obtuseness, coaxing an honest laugh from her brother for the first time in years.

"My mo- I mean...my foster-mother, she teaches Kung Fu in the _Wu Kwan_... uh- that's the school she owns, it was her father's before it was hers." Henry's eyes grew distant as if remembering something painful from long ago. "She signed the deed in my name and on the business contract too; neither of her sons wanted it, but I loved it there."

Thea's face lost all humour "You're gonna go back there? You're gonna _leave_ again?" all the emptiness she had felt for five years came crashing back all at once, with the very real possibility of being alone once more. That Henry hadn't felt the same pain, that he had replaced her.

Henry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other "I'd like too. I made a life there; I finally found something that I'm good at Thea, shouldn't I at least give it a shot?"

"Then open a wigwam- or whatever the hell it is- here instead. Right _here_ in Starling City. You can't leave again Henry! We only just got you back." Tears filled Thea's eyes even as she furiously wiped them away, she picked up her bag that she'd dropped earlier "I gotta go; I'll be late for school- where you should be too by the way, you know if you hadn't been dead for five years." She barged past her brother and slammed the door as she left.

"Well that could have gone better." Moira muttered

"Actually, it went about how I thought it would." Henry sighed warily as he rubbed his eyes. "It's really great to see you mom, but I've been up almost twenty-four hours, I could use some sleep."

"Of course, I had the staff change your linen but you'll find your room as you left it." She paused "Perhaps now you're home we could redecorate together? I know you've probably outgrown your comic book phase." She smiled tearfully, as though the thought of tearing down her shrine to the boy she had lost killed something deep inside of her.

"You're never too old for comic books, mom." Henry smiled "It's perfect for now, but I'd love to re-decorate with you, who knows maybe Thea will even help."

It was with one last smile at her little boy, now nearly a man, as he passed her on the stairs and Moira allowed herself to mourn for the child she had lost, for the child that had never truly come home. She took up the last photograph of her family before tragedy had torn it apart, poured herself a glass of whisky and cried like she hadn't in five years; curled up on the uncomfortable show-couch her sharp heels tearing grooved into the leather and her tears staining blue cashmere; which is exactly where Walter found her four hours and six glasses later.

* * *

The rain had eased some time ago, but the air was still think with moisture and her heels did little to protect her feet from the chill in the air as she waited for the limousine that would soon pull over near her. She had been dreading this moment, ever since that first phone call, since her initial jubilation had left her and the reality of the situation hit home. She climbed gracefully into the car without a word, he hands folded in her lap in a manner that had long since become routine.

"Hello Moira, thank you for coming." His words were polite but there was something in his manner, coldness to his voice that no amount of amiable smiles would ever mask. His eyes held ferocity in them, like a shark's eyes.

"Malcolm."

"Tell me, how is _my_ son?" His face had lost all pretence of amiability, and there was no room for argument, even if she desperately wished she could deny his claim over her child.

"Henry is doing very well. He's tired from his flight, he's sleeping."

"Good, let's keep it that way shall we? Do try and make sure that you don't get him killed this time Moira."

Moira's eyes narrowed dangerously "I did not kill _my_ son!"

"You let him get on the yacht with Robert, Moira." Malcolm's eyes bored into her own, and she felt a twinge of fear creep up her spine, there was always something empty about his eyes, as if someone had reached deep inside of him and carved out what made him human.

Malcolm smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, it never did. "I hear he was trained during his time in China, Kung Fu, is that correct?"

"Yes, with the woman who cared for him."

"Ah yes; his new mother."

Moira flinched, and felt as though she had suffered some significant loss against Malcolm in that moment. His shark-eyes lit up with satisfaction at the effect his barb had caused.

"What do we know of the three years before that? Has his location been confirmed?"

Moira stared into those empty eyes, the shape, the thickness of their lashes mirrored in the flesh of her child, and cursed the day that she met Malcolm Merlyn.

"No. The ambassador and Henry claim that he suffered trauma which induced memory loss. He told his sister that he spent time on the Island, with Oliver, but couldn't remember until some time ago."

"Do I detect a hint of disbelief in your tone, Moira?"

Moira cursed her foolish wording, no doubt thanks to the six glasses of whiskey that she had not quite slept off yet. Yes, she did not believe Henry's story, not completely. Amnesia was an awfully convenient excuse as to his absence, and despite the majority of her independent investigations collaborating Henry's story, there were glaring holes in his story that made no sense to her or her investigators. The mother, the martial arts school, Henry's complete recollection of their family history, the layout of the house, and most worryingly, the look on his face whenever she mentioned Oliver. All of these things pointed to the inconsistency of her child's story, after all this time Henry still wasn't a very good liar. But then again, she supposed, a mother simply has a way of knowing these things.

"Well, Moira?"

"I'm handling it."

"You'd better. If Robert made it to the Island, or with Henry we have to know about it. Find out the truth, and you had better do it soon. You won't enjoy the consequences if you fail me again, Moira."

Hearing the dismissal in his tone, Moira left the limousine without another word, steadfastly avoiding meeting Malcolm's shark-eyes and stood facing the waters of Starling dock, the cold biting at her skin as she desperately tried to get herself together. It wouldn't do for Walter to see her like this after all. After a few moments of collecting her calm, Moira climbed back into her car, and made her way back to the Queen mansion, eagerly awaiting her eldest son's arrival home.


	2. The Mercy of Purgatory

**Chapter Two: The Mercy of Purgatory**

* * *

' **We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.'**

 **-** **Winston Churchill**

* * *

 **Five Years Ago**

They say that the memories we recall the clearest are those we feel a great emotional upheaval; a proposal, the birth of a child, and the death of one's family. Henry Queen didn't remember the moment the Queen's Gambit sank, and he didn't remember the capsize with any specific detail. He remembered the water, ice cold, churning and black as if her were staring into a vast abyss. The pressure of the water rushing into his cabin was unbearable and he was dragged underneath it so fast that he was scarcely aware of it happening. there was no sound but the swirl of water, and the crash of thunder, though it was distant now, so very far away. He remembered the cold most clearly of all. The pressure of the freezing saltwater as it cocooned him in a twisted mockery of an embrace those few seconds felt like a lifetime as his lungs screamed at him for air. Temptation gnawed at him, how easy it would be just to let go, to let the water in. But Henry Queen had never been a quitter. He desperately dragged himself to the surface of the violent surf, the ocean black as pitch and vengeful in its fury.

Again and again the churning waters would drag him under, and he would force himself to swim upwards. Thrashing and desperate, Henry almost wept in relief upon reaching a slab of wood which had no doubt once been a part of his father's yacht, now merely a piece of wreckage. But to Henry, it was a miracle, had he been forced to swim no doubt he would have drowned in a few hours, he'd never been the best swimmer in the family. But again and again the young boy fought his way to the surface of the ocean, the complete lack of a lifejacket or the security of being near the boat caused terror to seize at his lungs with a coldness unmatched by the waters which threatened to swallow him whole.

"Dad?! Dad?!" he cried desperately "Oliver!? Hello, can anyone hear me? Hello!"

The storm drowned the boy's cries as surely as it had drowned his family. Henry's sobs continued for hours, long past the rising of the sun and increased upon the understanding that he was very much alone, in the middle of the ocean with no food, no water, suspended on a broken board that had once belonged to his father's pride and joy; The Queen's Gambit.

Exhaustion ate away at the young boy's motivation, and the freezing water lapped at his flesh with the swaying of his makeshift life raft. As Henry lay back against the board, his back soaked and his flesh peeling from constant exposure to sunlight, he thought of what it would be that he missed the most and found he couldn't come up with an answer that didn't seem trivial.

He thought of the way he would wake every Sunday, much earlier than everyone else in the house and would find his way to the kitchen still in pyjamas. He could remember the scent of bacon and freshly brewed black coffee and the sound of Raisa singing some obscure Russian song as she prepared breakfast for the thought of how quick Oliver was to defend Henry and Thea when his army of hanger-ons and sort-of-girlfriends would cross the line with them. How protective he could be and what a wonderful brother he was when he wasn't so obsessed with being the same as all of his friends.

He thought about Laurel, Oliver's girlfriend and how devastated her family would be after losing Sara, and how heartbroken Laurel would be when discovering the circumstances. He sister had died while sleeping with her boyfriend. There's no getting over that. He'd never really gotten to know Laurel, not like Thea had, but he wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. He thought of the way his mother tried so hard to show she loved them, even if the majority of his young life Henry and Thea had been the responsibility of nannies and the staff of the Queen Mansion. But still she loved them, in her own way.

Henry thought of Fridays and how their father always tried his hardest to put aside time to spend with Thea and Henry, he would sit down with them at dinner and ask about their week, how school was, their friends and hobbies. He'd go on to tell them how much he loved them before his work called him away. But most of all, Henry missed Thea. He missed the hours they could spend in each others company having the most ridiculous conversations about absolutely nothing. Or the times they would spend sneaking down to the living room with Oliver to watch a film they really weren't allowed to. He remembered every birthday, every Christmas and though of all of the ones he would miss if he didn't make it home again. Thea would be so alone.

He remembered the day they set sail with perfect clarity, Oliver being Oliver had chosen to drop the news that he'd been kicked or dropped out of yet another school and Moira had told Henry that Thea was too sick to join them, and that she hated boats anyway. Henry had never been so grateful for food poisoning than he was right now. If Thea hadn't gotten sick, she'd either be stuck with him or still on the boat that right now was probably at the bottom of the ocean.

He shivered at the thought, and the water kept on lapping at his skin, as though it sought to wear his soul down to sediment like a river wears away at rock. Weariness and heatstroke weighed on the twelve-year-old's mind and in his delirium he couldn't help but feel an acute sense of sorrow that Thea would have to celebrate their birthday without him. He hadn't even bought her a present, what a terrible brother.

Henry closed his eyes in resignation, his throat felt as though he'd swallowed broken glass and each breath through chapped lips felt like sandpaper reopening those wounds. He hadn't opened his eyes in hours, the glare of the sun too strong for weary eyes, and the lapping of water seemed a ticking clock, each repetition a beat counting on and on, each strike leading to his end. His limbs ached with irritation but self preservation prevented his movement, and still her heart the strike of water on flesh, when suddenly, he felt the brush of something against his arm that was neither water nor floating wood.

Curiously he turned his head and opened his dry eyes only to be met with the bloated and lifeless form of the ship's captain. Horror filled Henry's body and if his throat was not so dry he might have screamed, yet his horror was replaced quickly with misplaced fury at the sight of the object in the dead captain's hands. There it was, cradled in cold, dead hands; a red plastic water bottle with the multi-coloured painted letters 'T H E A' along the side. Anger surged within the boy and he tore his sister's bottle from the dead man's hands in viciously, kicking away the corpse with enough force to rock his makeshift raft, terror surged through his stomach as he steadied himself as best he could. He cradled the bottle to his chest, and ran his fingers over the painted letters.

The bottle was Thea's, he must have packed it by mistake, like that time in third grade when he'd accidentally taken Thea's Disney princess sneakers into school for gym class, but had worn them anyway. The bottle was half full. Hope found a place in his heart that he'd thought long since forgotten, ever since the destruction of the Queen's Gambit, since the death of his father and brother. He _would_ survive this, he _would_ live and find his way home again; for Thea.

He couldn't be certain how long he drifted. He was almost sure that he had seen three sunrises, but delirium is such an uncertain thing. The wind burned his flesh and the sun burned his skin, the water beneath him lapping at his back was a constant reminder how close he was to death. One wrong move, a freak wave or curious underwater creature and he would certainly die. To die now would be an insult to how far he had come. His ship had sunk, but he had survived, he had robbed a corpse of his sister's stolen bottle and drank its contents as sparingly as he could. Even with the threat of death imminent, even when the temperature dropped so severely that Henry was sure his shivers would send him tumbling into the water below him, when his breath came out in streams of visible clouds, he could honestly say that it was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

While lying back against his float, the water numbing his ravaged skin, Henry stared into the sky unpolluted by the lights of the bug city, unimaginably clear and beautiful. The star were mirrored by the unusually calm sea and for one brief moment Henry was sure that he must have died in his sleep, for his little raft lay floating on an ocean of stars, the light of the moon both pale and distant, a cold light for the cold evening. The tableau before him enticed Henry from his delirium, awakening his mind to the wonder of the world, despite the tragedy, despite the temptation to give up and let death take him; Henry had found his resolve on that makeshift raft, a resolve and determination to survive that would follow him for years to come.

Henry awoke to the sound of crying gulls and creeping of morning light beneath his eyelids. He wrenched his eyes open and sobbed in disbelief at the sight of an island on the horizon, lush and green with mountain peaks that reached higher than he could ever remember seeing. He twisted his body around, hugging Thea's bottle close to his chest and paddled his little raft along with the tide. Soon enough he would find land, soon enough the struggle to survive would truly begin. It was nearly nightfall when he reached the rocky shores of the island, his body collapsing against the sand. It would be some time before he learned its name but in those brief moments of reprieve, Henry had been certain that such good fortune must surely be named 'Mercy'. _Lian Yu_ would prove to be the farthest thing from merciful.

 **Present**

Henry lay with his back against the wall on the window seat of his childhood room, the afternoon light streaming in casting a long shadow across the floor. His book lay unopened at his feet and the steaming cup of coffee nestled on the floor was now stone cold and untouched; which was precisely how Thea found him.

"So this morning, I was a bitch to you. I'm sorry Harry" Thea smiled softly from his bedroom door.

"No one's called me Harry in a long time."

"Well good, I'm glad. I'd have to start charging for use of my nickname. Maybe I should trade mark it, you know, like Paris Hilton and 'that's so hot.'"

Henry's lips twitched in amusement, he moved the book and gestured silently for her to sit down.

"How was school?" he asked softly

"Well you know, it was school." Thea laughed "Nothing much to say about it."

"I guess not."

"Did you go to school? Over in Hong Kong, I mean?"

"Yes, for a while. But I wasn't always in Hong Kong."

Thea frowned "What do you mean? Mom said that you lived in Hong Kong, and you had amnesia or something."

Henry sighed and rubbed his eyes "Yes, for that past couple of years I was in Hong Kong, but before that..." he swallowed uncomfortably "before that, I was on an island _the_ island. Oliver's island it turns out."

"What?" Thea rasped "How is that even possible?"

"I didn't remember it for a long time, Thea. Something happened there and I nearly died. The fishermen who found me, who pulled my body from the water thought that I _was_ dead."

Henry's eyes met hers pleadingly "You've gotta believe me Thea, if I had remembered I would have told them about Oliver, but I barely remembered my own name let alone to let them know to look for Oliver."

"I Believe you." Thea rested her hand on his shoulder "Hey, it's okay Harry I believe you."

"Do you think that mom and Oliver hate me? It's my fault; I should have _remembered_ I should have _done_ something." Henry's eyes watered and he clung desperately to the hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me!" Thea's hands clasped both his shoulders firmly "You had no control over that, you didn't remember anything what could you possibly have done?"

Henry relaxed into her embrace and allowed himself to feel safe, for the first time in five hellish years.

"I love you, Thea."

"I know. Me too."

Moira Queen found her two youngest children asleep against the window frame, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the horizon and one half of Henry's face, the side of the horrific scaring the other side lay in shadow. How very fitting, she thought to herself she looking upon the young man her child had become in his absence, that he should be marked by both light and dark She cleared her throat and her son's eyes shot open, as if he were assessing a threat.

"Dinner will be served in an hour." She murmured

"We'll be there."

"Henry?"

"Yeah mom?

"Welcome home."

* * *

When Oliver Queen heard the news from his mother that Henry was alive and had been alone in Hong Kong for almost two years he thought for a moment that someone was playing a particularly cruel trick on him. He felt tempted to look around for the hidden cameras; did they still make that show? They probably wouldn't trick a man who'd just come back from the dead, even if they did.

The call had been unexpected, in his planning Oliver had assumed that he would fly back to starling as soon as he reached Hong Kong. Apparently it was more complicated than he had first thought, this business of returning from the dead. The embassy had required blood tests, DNA testing and a full physical exam. They allowed him to contact his mother though, and he was almost regretting it. She had cried through the phone for almost an hour.

"I have to tell you something, Oliver." She spoke through her tears.

"Henry is alive."

Oliver's blood ran cold and if it were not for his remarkable reflexes, he was certain that he would have dropped the phone.

"What?"

"Henry is alive, Oliver. He's been in Hong Kong the past year and half."

"Where is he now? Can I see him?" Oliver rushed to his feet, ignoring the IV in his arm and desperately looking for the shoes he had been given.

"No, he's on a flight to the US now." She paused "actually, he's most likely on the connecting flight to starling right now."

"Has he said anything? About the accident?" Oliver asked tentatively.

"No, I haven't spoken to him yet. Apparently there were three years unaccounted for that he's been working with a therapist to get back. Memory loss or something like that, they told me." frustration clouded Moira's tone and she sighed angrily.

"Which is why he didn't come home." Oliver surmised.

"Apparently so, but I don't have faith in these Chinese doctors Oliver, there's something not right about this. Both you and Henry will be seen by our doctors when you're back home in Starling."

Oliver laughed, "I'm sure that doctors are the same anywhere, mom."

"Even so, you will be seeing our doctor when you get back. How long do you think that will be? I could arrange a private jet?"

"No don't bother, I've already got a seat on a commercial flight, it'll be a few days, the doctors want to keep me a little longer."

"Very well," Moira sighed "I've missed you, Oliver, and I love you."

"I know mom, me too."

The dial tone of his borrowed phone served as a painful reminder of just how alone Oliver was. He set the phone aside, picking up the printed-paper copy of his family portrait that the ambassador had left him with. Oliver stared mournfully at the photo, particularly at the small pre-teen boy with sandy-blonde hair that had only grown darker as he grew, and a wide grin that would be absent from his face in just a few short years. the image of his brother would forever be stained with blood. He kept replaying that moment in his mind, the moment that Henry had died- or hadn't as it turned out. His little brother had haunted his dreams for years, filled with accusation and pleading with him to save him. But he was never fast enough. Henry's blood-stained face swam across his mind, and his agonised screams echoed throughout the silence of the room.

The hospital hadn't been a part of his plan, but he endured the hours of medical observation with dignity. He packed his belongings into a small bag, and slung tit over his shoulder, but took great care with the trunk he carried. It had taken a call to his friends in customs, but no-one would check this trunk, if they had neither it, nor Oliver would have made it out of China.

It was as he glanced though the tiny porthole window of the aeroplane, preparing for the fifteen hour flight he would endure, that Oliver couldn't help but wonder which one of the miniscule lights that lit up the Hong Kong skyline marked the place his brother had lived. What kind of life had he known?

Images swam through his troubled mind desperately trying to come up with a picture for what a seventeen year old Henry would look like. Each time he came up empty. Was he short or tall? Did he have dark hair or light like his own? Did he still love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or had his tastes grown more refined after so long in China? It was amidst these musings that Oliver was met with the realisation that he really didn't know the kind of man his brother was becoming, and if he missed so much with Henry, than what had he missed with Thea, with his mother with Tommy and... _Laurel._ Even thinking her name was painful. He was under no illusions, he knew she would never forgive him, but to see her face again, to talk to her, hear her voice. Well, it was more than he could hope for, more than he'd allowed himself to hope for in a very long time.

Things were looking up, he thought to himself. In a few hours he would be home, his family would be together again. Well, almost. But the loss of his father was an old wound, one that had festered long enough to become a dull ache at the back of his mind. Ever present, but manageable. He would have to relieve it at some point, but for now, he was content to sit beside the strangers on the plane, so engrossed with their own lives they may as well be part of the furniture. But Oliver's will was absolute, he would cherish the gift of his family and the unexpected miracle that was the survival of Henry Queen, but he was returning to Starling City with one purpose: to save it, righting the wrongs of his father and becoming something more, _something else._


	3. Survive

**Chapter Three: Survive**

* * *

' **The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he is on.'  
― ****Joseph Heller** **,** **Catch-22**

* * *

 **Five Years Ago**

Henry had been walking for hours, his bare feet were raw and bleeding, and what little water he'd had left upon reaching the island had long since been drunk. The forest seemed to get longer the more he walked, and he was sure that he'd passed the same tree at least three times. He would never get out of the dense woodland this way. He needed a plan, desperately, but his mind was clouded with pain, dehydration and hunger, the world around him was already beginning to bend in his vision, as if he hadn't slept in days; which was accurate, as he didn't think passing out intermittently while balanced precariously on a makeshift raft really counted as restful sleep.

He couldn't stop now, even with his feet swathed in blood and muddy debris, with his body screaming at him to sleep, Henry had the terrible feeling that if he did, he'd never get up again. And he had to get up, he had to carry on, find someone, anyone on this island he had so erroneously named Mercy mere hours earlier. He had to live, and find his way back to his family, what was left of it. So the young boy carried on, his legs had reached far beyond the point of exhaustion long ago, now felt heavy and numb as if they were blocks of cement that he was futilely dragging along the forest floor.

In the depths of a vast forest, the only means of telling the passing of time is the concentration of light, so it may come to pass that night sneaks up on a weary traveller quite unannounced; such was the case with Henry Queen. Darkness surrounded him with alarming speed, swallowing everything he could see in almost an instant, like the falling of toxic ash after a volcanic eruption, but this was not Pompeii, and Henry would not lie under ash to be found centuries later. He would live, even if it killed him. So he carried on, with one hand reaching out for the next tree, the other sweeping in front of him as he took one step, and then another with deliberate caution.

He didn't know when he passed out, or if it was from pain, hunger, thirst or tiredness, all he knew is that when he awoke the next day, he was warmer than he had been in a little over a week. He could feel bandages around his feet, and he was covered by a thick blanket, the kind you'd find in those old military surplus stores, that smelt like sweat and smoke. The air was thick with the scent of barbequed meat and wood smoke, and he couldn't help but salivate at the thought of food.

Henry rubbed his eyes and very carefully pulled himself up from the cot he was lying on and was met with the startling sight of a man sat not three feet from him, dressed in grey military BDU's and sharpening a vicious looking sword, with a handgun strapped to either leg.

"You should drink that." He pointed to the cup sat on the floor by Henry's cot, "I'd say you're pretty thirsty by now."

Henry lifted the metal cup from the floor, taking the opportunity to look around the shelter that the man's apparent altruism had landed him in. It appeared to be the inside of a plane, small, not commercial. Paired with the man's military dress most likely something to do with that. Henry tried to subtly smell if the man had put something in the water, but failed miserably if the man's barking laughter was anything to go by.

"If I was gonna kill you, kid, I wouldn't need to use poison to do it." His accent was not one Henry had heard before, but he thought it might have been Australian. The man returned to sharpening his swords as Henry greedily drained the whole cup.

"Now I'm going to ask you a question, and you'd better hope that I like the answer, understand?" His voice wasn't loud, but the tone was firm, promising retribution if Henry answered incorrectly.

"I understand."

"Good. Now, tell me how did you get to _Lian Yu?_ And don't leave anything out, or I'll know."

Henry wondered briefly if _Lian Yu_ was the name of the island, but didn't want to irritate his captor/saviour by asking any questions. So he told him, about the Queens Gambit, about the days he spent on the raft, about washing up on the island and about his encounter with the dead captain. He told possibly-Australian man about walking through the forest, and how he couldn't remember passing out, he concluded with an acute wariness, wondering if the man would end up killing him regardless, Henry was uncomfortably surprised when the man started to laugh.

"You're a tough one, aren't you kid?"

"Is that good?"

"For you, Yes."

"Which means you're not gonna kill me."

"Exactly." The man sheathed his swords in a harness on his back and walked out of the fuselage for a moment only to return with a makeshift plate, made out of what Henry assumed to be part of the plane, and handed Henry a plate of meat. "For you to be of use to me, you have to be alive; so eat."

"Of use to you... how exactly?"

"Eat up and then I'll tell you."

Henry did as he was told and listened intently to the story the man was about to tell him.

"My name is Slade Wilson and a year ago my partner and I were sent here on an extraction mission by ASIS..."

 **Present**

Henry had slept through both Oliver's arrival home and dinner, straight through to after noon the next day, Thea had described the whole affair as 'the meal from hell', where their brother had proceeded to insult their mother's new husband, Walter Steele.

"You should have been there, Harry, it was like something from a terrible soap opera!" Thea gleefully repeated again from her position on Henry's window seat.

"I'm glad that I wasn't."

"Oh please, you're jealous that you missed Ollie's homecoming, at least. Admit it!"

"I'm not sure I'm a person that Oliver wants to see, Thea."

Thea frowned "Is this about you being rescued from the island without him?"

"I abandoned him, Thea. I'm sure that's got to hurt."

Henry still hadn't changed out of his pyjama pants, but had thrown on a long-sleeved Henley, one of many that along with multiple pairs of cargo pants, made up his entire wardrobe. She'd have to change that, and fast. He sat on the floor, his back against his bed and his hands clasped over his knees.

"Get up." Thea declared finally after a moment of silence. "Come on, I'm serious. Get up, get dressed; we're going shopping and you don't have any say in it."

Henry smiled wryly "Not even a little?"

"Nope, no say whatsoever, I'm sick of seeing you dressed like a fashion disaster; Cargo pants are so nineties boy-band."

Thea rushed to the door, and spun around pointing at him accusingly, "I'm going to get my purse, meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes or I'll drag you along by that mop you call hair."

Henry raised his hands in surrender "Yes, sir drill-sergeant Thea, sir!"

Thea rolled her eyes and called back over her shoulder " _Ten_ minutes, Harry!"

Henry laughed and quickly changed, tying the laces of his boots swiftly, not bothering to pick up a jacket, and met his sister at the front door. Immediately he clicked his heels together and pulled off a very convincing military salute.

"Henry Queen reporting in!"

Thea laughed happily, deep in her eyes it seemed as if something dark had been lifted, as if she hadn't had much call to laugh in a very long time.

"I've missed you, Harry."

"I know, me too." He paused and took his hand from behind his back to show her something. It was the remains of her water bottle from five years ago. The colour had faded and the painted letters had peeled, leaving only the remnants of the letter 'H', it had no lid and parts of the plastic had cracked leaving it unusable, one such crack looked suspiciously like a bullet hole, but neither twin mentioned it.

"I had this with me the whole time I was away, Thea. Even when I didn't know who I was I knew it was important. I knew that you were important. When I wanted to give up, when I thought I was going to die, this saved my life. _You_ saved my life. So thank you, Thea."

Thea's eyes welled up with tears "I can't believe you kept this."

"How could I not? You'd have killed me if I came home without it."

Thea laughed softly and smiled through her tears. "You're gonna be a real heartbreaker you know, more than Oliver was."

"I will never be as bad as Oliver." Henry's tone was teasing, but his eyes were cold, as if the intention behind them was something else entirely, something that she had no precedent to understand it.

"Come on, we better hurry or all the stores will be closed by the time we get there."

"Downside to living out in the middle of nowhere- take too long to get anywhere."

"The upside's the size of the house"

"Well that, and there's the pool."

Thea laughed as she shut the door behind them, and waited for their driver to bring the car around.

From her position on the first floor landing, Moira watched her youngest children leave with trepidation, she had thought that Thea could be kept out of this, but the people she had hired were not the kind you could simply cancel a contract with. No, her only hope was that Henry would keep his sister safe, and that Robert had never made it to the island. She took out her phone and dialled the number that had far too much use lately.

"It's done." She said coldly

"Good. I'll expect a report later today."

"I'll call you as soon as-"

"No. I want us to meet, for you to tell me in person. I'll send you the location later this evening."

"Very we-" Moira's response was cut off by the sound of the dial tone. Furiously, she screamed and threw her phone across the landing, hanging her head in her hands and leaning against the carven wood of the banister.

* * *

It felt as though he and Thea had been to every mens clothing store in Starling City, each time leaving with a ridiculous amount of bags, which of course he alone carried at her insistence. Why exactly he needed so many clothes, he would never know. There hadn't been much on the island, most of his clothing was stolen, and in Hong Kong, though they weren't poor by any means, there simply wasn't enough money to indulge as extravagantly as Thea seemed to be doing with little thought as to the cost.

"I don't understand why I need so many shoes."

"That's what you said about everything I bought today."

"And still I don't understand."

"Well, that's because..." Thea's response died in her throat as she collapsed. A tranq dart, green markings- must be professional grade. Henry's mind swam as he dodged the dart meant for himself, foolishly fired from the same direction as Thea's had been. Semi-professionals, he amended. Five men with guns emerged from the back of a van, the last hastily putting down the tranq-rifle in favour of a semi-automatic. The exchange was too slow.

Well accustomed to such odds, and with a rage that was unmatched fanned by the ever-present danger to his sister, Henry annihilated the threat. Men with guns and petty-criminal careers were of little match to one trained by the best, and soon enough all five fell with broken arms, legs and multiple broken ribs respectively. They hadn't fired their weapons once, they must have been hired for interrogation or acquisition rather than assassination.

Henry's face held nothing of the warmth it had earlier, and his eyes, both green and blue burned with righteous and murderous fury, he took out the hunting knife he had managed to hide from Thea from out of his right boot, and held it up one of the men's faces. He pulled the balaclava from the writhing man's face and spoke in a calm voice that sent chills down the gunman's spine.

"I am going to ask you a question, and if I don't like you're answer I'm going to put this knife in your eye, and believe me when I tell you, the pain is excruciating." Henry placed the blade against the gunman's eyebrow. "Who hired you?" when the gunman made no move to answer, Henry moved the blade downwards so that it rested on his eyelid, and gently began to add pressure, his hand steady as a rock.

"NO No please!" the gunman whimpered "I'll talk, I'll talk! I never got the bitch's name I swear, but she was rich like super rich, went though an intermediary, some guy said his name was Joe he's real big on the scene one of them rich fixers; that's all I know I swear to God!"

"I believe you." Henry sheathed the knife and caught the man in a choke hold, and held it until he passed out, he proceeded to do the same with the other four men.

"Thea." He murmured, as he gently picked her up and sat her against a parked car, before taking out his phone and calling the police.

The response time was remarkable, and the police were on the scene within ten minutes, just as Thea was waking up from the effects of the tranquiliser. Detective Lance stormed over to the pair, holstering his gun as his colleagues handcuffed the gunmen even as they were being treated by paramedics.

"This your doing, Queen?" he demanded

"I told the operator when I called for both the police and ambulance that it was." Henry replied calmly.

"Then, Henry Queen, I'm arresting you for assault and battery. You have the right to remain silent-"

"No." Henry replied calmly.

"No? No I'm not arresting you? I don't know about China but here in America that's not how the justice system works, kid."

Henry's eyes narrowed and spoke in a low, firm voice. "My sister and I were attacked by armed men, I defended both her and myself which I am well within my rights to do."

"Defended yourself? These guys are in pieces!"

"They had guns and outnumbered me, my sister was unconscious and I couldn't leave her. I had to incapacitate them so that I could get Thea to safety."

"You still assaulted five men, you could have killed them, which is why _I'm_ within _my_ right to arrest your smart-ass, you little prick!" Detective lance grabbed hold of Henry's arm and forced one handcuff around Henry's left wrist, but before he could secure the other arm his partner walked over to him in a hurry.

"Quentin, what the hell!? Let the kid go."

"This little shit just put five guys in the hospital and you want me to let him go?"

"'This little shit' has an army of lawyers and a mother who just showed up at the scene." His partner told him firmly. "Captain says to cut him loose."

Quentin Lance scowled but un-cuffed Henry none too gently regardless. "One of these days you're gonna screw up and I'll be there to catch you when you do; you and you're damn brother."

Henry simply stared at the detective with a blank expression, as he walked away with his level-headed partner, and made his way over to his mother, who was holding Thea so tightly that he was almost certain that he could see his sister turning blue. Soon enough the suffocating embrace also included himself as Moira herded her children into the car, the unfortunate driver carrying all of Thea's excessive clothing purchases with him.

While in the safety of the car, Thea turned her wide eyes to her brother. "You saved my life, Henry. Thank you."

Henry smiled wryly "Told you I'd found something I was good at."

Thea laughed, though the sound was a little hysterical. "Yeah, I guess you did."

* * *

Later that evening, after a second angry visit from Detective Lance viciously questioning Oliver about the 'man in the green hood' that the eldest Queen child claimed had saved both himself and Tommy Merlyn from their captors, and Thea's first early night in years Moira left the mansion that had finally began to feel like home again, for yet another clandestine meeting with Malcolm Merlyn, only he got into her car this time, a deviation from his norm.

"Hello Moira, I hear there was a slight complication with your plan." How was it that even when neutral his face seemed to be mocking her.

"I underestimated Henry. He disabled his attackers, they got nothing from him."

Was it a trick of the light, of had that rare flicker of emotion in Malcolm's shark-like eyes been pride? Moira dismissed the thought as ludicrous, but she couldn't help but wonder, was Malcolm more invested in the children he had fathered than he claimed to be?

"And the man in the hood that rescued Oliver?"

Moira frowned "The police know nothing, and Oliver knows nothing. Robert died on _The Queens Gambit_ five years ago. He told them _nothing_ , I can promise you that."

"You had better hope so Moira, I would hate for any more misfortune to befall your family."

With that his sign of parting, Malcolm stepped gracefully out of her car and left her alone with her thoughts, and the increasing sense of dread that he had plans for her children that she would not be able to control.

* * *

Henry sat on a black cushioned stool at the breakfast bar that hadn't been part of the kitchen five years ago, and pushed his meal around his plate the majority of it left uneaten, when a polite clearing of the throat interrupted his thoughts.

"I knew you were there, Oliver."

"I know."

Oliver quietly sat beside him, and folded his hands in his lap before he spoke.

"I talked to Thea."

"Oh?"

"She said you saved her life."

"Of course I did, did you expect anything less?" Henry's eyes narrowed and his tone grew cold.

Oliver frowned "Honestly, I wouldn't know anymore."

"No. You wouldn't." Henry's voice held an edge of steel that had not been present before, and his hand clenched around his fork so tightly that for a moment Oliver was sure that it would break.

"She told me what you said...about the island." Oliver paused "Why did you tell her that? You never did anything wrong Henry, it was-"

Henry's hand slammed down onto the countertop, the fork still clenched in his fist left a deep groove in the faux marble.

"Do _not_." Henry's face twisted into a mockery of itself as he snapped at Oliver with a rage simmering deeply in his mismatched eyes. He took a deep breath and continued, his voice barely above a whisper ad somewhat more composed than before.

"What I tell Thea is nothing to do with you, but out of my concern for her. if I told her the truth it would destroy her; so I lied. I gave her a truth she could accept."

Henry stood and cleared away his plate and the mess he'd made in the kitchen before answering his brother with an edge to his voice that had not been there before. His eyes both green and blue were like the eyes of a wolf stalking its prey, as they bored into Oliver's own.

"Don't presume what I do considers your feelings ever again, Oliver. I will be civil, for the sake of civility and for my love of Thea. But do not expect any sentiment on my part. I don't trust you, not anymore, and I will most certainly not go back to being your brother."

Oliver swallowed; hurt swimming in his own blue eyes as he answered. "Fair enough."

As Henry began to walk away, Oliver called out to him. "I know it won't mean anything to you, not now, but I am truly sorry, Henry."

Henry paused, but didn't turn to face his older brother "I know."

He walked away without another word, leaving Oliver alone in the unfamiliar kitchen of their childhood home. In the empty kitchen, alone for the first time all day, Oliver allowed himself to grieve, no matter how brief the moment was, for the brother he had lost.


	4. The Will is Everything

**Chapter Four: The Will is Everything**

* * *

' **Death does not wait for you to be ready! Death is not considerate, or fair! And make no mistake: here, you face Death.'**  
 **– Henri Ducard, Batman Begins**

' **The training is nothing! The will is everything!'  
\- Henri Ducard, Batman Begins**

* * *

 **Present**

From the time that he realised that the staff of Queen Mansion would not chase him while he and Thea were left in their care, Henry had taken to the habit of climbing out of his bedroom window, up the side of the wooden frame and onto one of the many parapets that the mansion boasted. As he grew older, his feats of climbing grew more and more daring, eventually resulting in his being o familiar with the structure of the mansion, that it would be a simple matter of his climbing out of the window, up all the way along the highest parapet and up onto the roof. The rooftop of the mansion was Henry's safe place, his retreat, one he didn't share with anyone, not even his sister Thea.

Before the island, it would not be uncommon for Henry to spend many hours up there, even when it was raining. But now, Henry could find little solace in his old retreat, for his mother had had a roof garden installed in his absence. Why on earth one would desire a second garden on the roof when they possessed as much land as the Queen family had; the property spanned almost two miles, Henry would never know. But what he did know is that he would never find peace here again.

The morning light was just beginning to creep over the horizon, another night with no sleep. The cold morning air did little to soothe the ache in his head, and the acute sense of loss he was experiencing at the idea that his place of solitude was now gone. He would just have to find another one, one that would not be converted into whatever project his mother decided to take on next.

Just as he was about to begin his decent down the side of the wall, the roof door opened forcefully, hitting the wall as it did so. It must have been pushed open with quite some force. Henry jumped over the side of the roof, and positioned himself comfortably in the window frame of the window just below him, the position allowed him to overhear the conversation taking place above with perfect clarity. Two sets of footsteps, one lighter, wearing high heels; most likely it was his mother. The other heavy boots, not Walter, he always wore fine, handmade Italian shoes, and not Oliver, his steps were almost silent-a member of staff then, most likely security.

"You told me you would take care of it, you failed." His mother's voice was furious; he could almost picture the crease of her brow and her crossed arms.

"You gave me no time, securing the cooperation of one group was hard enough, two was impossible; I had to outsource." A man's voice, unfamiliar, but his accent was rough, not a Starling native, or if he was he hadn't been for long.

"You hired amateurs, they got nothing from Henry or from Oliver, and they could have killed my children!"

Henry froze, his grip on the stone window frame tightening painfully. It was his mother who had hired the men?

"If you had allowed me to do as I wanted and capture them individually, quietly with discretion I would have gotten everything I needed!"

"I told you, we couldn't risk it, better it be done at the same time, publically, so that my involvement would not be discovered."

"I don't think you understand Moira, this kind of thing, for it to happen once is suspicious in itself, but twice in one day to both of your sons separately? What do you think that implies?"

"That the queen family is wealthy and there are many people who would try to capitalise on that."

"No, Moira. It implies that something more is going on that just a kidnapping."

"It is your job to ensure that nothing comes of this."

"With respect Moira, it's a little late for that now. The cops are already suspicious."

"Then let them suspect, there is nothing tying me to this."

"We both know someone who is tied to this, if this starts affecting him you that that he'll-"

"I am well aware. Don't talk about it again, just go and do your job, and have that list of names ready for me by the time breakfast is served."

"Very well, Mrs. Queen."

Henry heard both his mother and the security man leave, and proceeded to climb back down to his bedroom. He hadn't expected this, for his mother to be this kind of person. It could undo everything he had worked for over the last three years. She must have been the client that the gunman had confessed to the other day-but why? Why capture both himself and Oliver, what purpose would it serve? This would merit thorough investigation, with extreme caution. He could no longer afford to underestimate his mother, and he could not trust anyone here. It was like Slade always told him; everyone was out for themselves.

Henry reached under his bed for his duffle bag; the sheets that brushed against his skin were made of rich cotton that was too soft against his skin. The mattress was like being swallowed by a marshmallow. Three years away and he still couldn't get used to not sleeping in the cold, and often on the floor. No wonder he couldn't sleep. Henry unzipped the duffle and took out his most prized possessions, wrapped in a weathered cloth that may have one been white but was now a dull grey was a pair of swords, their holster still in the duffle. Henry glanced at the time, it wasn't even seven yet, Thea wouldn't be up for hours, ever since the attack she'd been partying more often, she had invited Henry of course, but he had declined. He took out a whetstone, and began to sharpen his swords. He would need them far sooner than he had first thought.

He would have to tread carefully, with Oliver and his alter ego, and now his mother and hers, he would be hard pressed to avoid discovery if both of them decided to question his movements. He would need a distraction, and an alibi. He reached into the bag once more and took out a burner phone from the very bottom of the bag, dialled a well practiced number and waited.

The click of the phone being picked up and placed to an ear sounded, but nothing else. "There has been a complication, my progress is delayed."

"What is it?"

"My mother; she is a player, I will have to tread carefully."

"Understood, do what you have to, but keep me updated." The phone cut off and Henry placed it back inside the bag, with reluctance, the recently sharpened swords followed, exchanged for a pair of escrima sticks.

Not bothering with the door, or putting on shoes, Henry climbed out of the window again, and down to the garden, his sticks tucked under one arm as he did so. His scarred feet cool against the damp of the morning dew that soaked his pyjama pants. Henry fell into an old routine, his eyes closed as he thought of nothing but his practicing, the countering of imaginary enemies, and the memory of old ones played through his troubled mind well into the morning. That was where Oliver found him hours later, having spotted him from the window.

Oliver watched as his little brother showed his remarkable skill, superior to his own in this area. He remembered when he first tried to learn, and how he had laughed at the thought of fighting with something as ridiculous as sticks. He'd changed his tune when Slade beat him into the grass the first round, and became serious when his then twelve year old brother had followed suit.

Out of curiosity, Oliver picked up a small rock off of the grass, and threw it towards his brother; with movement nearly too fast to see, Henry had knocked the projectile out of the air and turned his attention towards Oliver.

Henry scowled and for a moment Oliver was struck by how much he reminded him of Slade. "I thought I had made myself clear, Oliver."

"About us being brothers; yes. But you said nothing about training together." Oliver moved his hands from behind his back to reveal another pair of escrima sticks.

Henry's lips twitched, threatening to smile. "Think you can keep up, this time?"

"I know it."

 **Five Years Ago**

"Again." The demanding and merciless command had become as familiar to Henry as breathing over the last six months.

Training with Slade was honestly the most challenging thing that Henry had ever done, and for the first month Henry has resented him for it. But as time passed, and two strangers became mentor and student, Henry had come to admire the older man.

After each training session Slade would wrap Henry's wounds, he would teach him about firearms, about what tactics they would employ, about Fyers' men and most importantly about the layout of the command tower they would have to take possession of in order to leave the island. Despite being fully aware that Slade had saved him purely because he could not take the tower alone, Henry couldn't help but wonder if this is what it felt like to have a father.

Sure, Robert Queen did the best he could, but he was never there. There was always some important business he had to attend to, there was always a crisis or a meeting or a phone call. And there was just something in the way that he looked at Henry sometimes, almost as if he was looking through him.

Slade did none of those things, he was rough with him because Henry needed to learn and learn fast so that the both of them would survive. He was demanding because he had to be, he pushed Henry not of his own impatience, but because of his faith in Henry. Slade had not abandoned him, Slade had never told Henry that he had no time for him, and Slade had never once looked through Henry, not like Robert Queen had.

So Henry, upon hearing his mentor's command, rose to his feet that were wrapped in cloth in the absence of shoes that would fit him, and attacked his teacher without mercy. What little baby-fat Henry had possessed had long since been sculpted into muscle, every inch of him carved with the sole purpose of deadly force. Blood streamed from a wound in his head, blinding him in one eye as it flowed over it, a map of half healed bruised covered nearly every inch of the young man's body, along with a growing number of scars.

The repetitive crash of bamboo against bamboo rang out through the clearing, the vibrations against Henry's weary arms sent shocks of pain through to the bone, but he paid it no heed, till the bamboo sticks of his mentor crashed against his hands, disarming him completely. A second hit sent the boy tumbling into the grass, but Henry didn't miss a beat, he kicked out at Slade's knee, buckling it for a moment, and took a handful of dirt and threw it in his teacher's eyes as he scrambled to his feet, picking up his weapons as he did so, before attacking as soon as he was on his feet, fighting desperately as though his life depended on it. But Slade once again disarmed Henry, slammed him to the ground, and held one arm across the boy's throat, with one knee pressing down on Henry's ribs.

"Dead." He uttered simply before releasing Henry and offering him a hand, pulling the boy upright. "But better. We've still got a way to go though, kid."

"I can keep going!" Henry insisted, his face set in a determined frown that did not match his youthfulness.

Slade barked out a small laugh, and ruffled the boys hair "not today, you'll damage yourself if we keep going."

Slade picked up both sets of training sticks, and tucked them under one arm.

"Slade."

"Yeah?"

"We'll get home, I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises to people that you can't guarantee, Kid." Slade's expression was unreadable, but he offered his student the smallest of smiles.

"I mean it Slade." Henry's face bore a sincerity that did not match his age. "I won't let you down."

Slade smiled briefly, clasping his student's shoulder firmly and meeting the boy'sgreen eyes. "I know you won't. Now, go clean yourself up kid; you reek."

Henry spluttered indignantly while Slade laughed at him "Hey! So do you!"

"Yes, but I'm not the one drenched in blood, am I?"

Henry grimaced "Good point; I'll go wash off."

Henry hastily scooped his shirt off of the ground, not bothering to put it on in case he got it covered in blood, when Slade called out to him.

"Hey kid." He threw Henry one of his handguns and told him to be back before dark, as he headed inside the fuselage. Henry began the trek to the river, having become very familiar with the woods surrounding the fuselage over the past six months.

The river ran slowly at this point, the kind of lazy movement that barely looked like it was running at all. But its waters were deceptively deep, it took only a few steps into the river for the water level to come up past Henry's waist. Henry sank to his knees below the surface, not trusting the current to be slow moving any further out than he was, and took a moment to appreciate the small measure of peace that he felt as the water encompassed him.

Cool and crisp as the slow current brushed against his eyelids, easing the strain of many sleepless nights, he scrubbed viciously at his hair with the sediment from the bottom of the river; a mixture of sand and debris, the only way to get the blood out of it. The river washed away the sand easily enough, and Henry stayed there beneath its waters for as long as his breath would allow.

In those moments Henry felt as though he was not Henry Queen, youngest child of billionaire Robert Queen, not the image of a perfect child that his mother liked to parade him around as at her dinner parties and holiday gatherings, but just _Henry_ , the boy who Slade had saved that day six months ago, the boy who was more than just who Robert and Moira Queen told him he should be. A near death experience and struggle to survive has a way of illuminating truths that we do not wish to address, especially about those whom we love.

In Slade Henry had found what he had been looking for his entire life; a family. Sure, Robert and Moira ensured that he had a roof over his head, food over his belly and a nanny to see to his needs until he was well behaved enough for company. But while he was sure they must love him and his siblings- in their own way- they were simply never there. Yes, Moira liked to spend hours shopping and dressing up with Thea, but her interactions with Henry were somewhat less personal, she would spend time with both twins, or talk to Henry about school and his needs, but Moira had always been a little cold.

Robert had tried to be there, scheduling specific times through his personal assistant to spend time with Henry and Thea, but he was simply too busy the majority of the time. And Oliver was ten years their senior, and whilst he loved his siblings dearly, he simply wasn't there most of the time. Slade was different. He told Henry from the beginning that the only way off of the island was to become a weapon, to fight their way through Fyers' men and get to the supply plane, which only arrived once every six months.

Slade was honest with him, he told him where he was lacking, and helped to fix the inadequacies. Slade never lied to him, he told him that in order to survive he would have to become a killer. Henry decided that he could live with that. At first Slade had been cold, but after months of living together, fighting together and many long nights when sleep escaped the both of them and talking was their only solace, they had become a family. In Slade, Henry had found the father he wished he could have had, a father who was there, who listened to him, to spent time with him, and protected him.

Slade was his family, and no one not even Edward Fyers was going to take that away. Henry would kill the slimy bastard before he let that happen. Henry had sworn to himself that he would do whatever it took in order to get Slade home, to repay the man who had not only saved his life, but given him the tools and the skills to survive on his own. It was only in the deepest reached of his mind, in these quiet, reflective moments that Henry would allow himself to admit that he was jealous of Slade's son Joe, but the feeling was pushed away as quickly as it had appeared.

Henry stood sharply, breaching the surface of the river, the shock of the cold air striking his skin made him shiver, but only for a moment. He waded out of the water, and dressed quickly, before taking hold of the handgun Slade had lent him, making sure the safety was firmly in place, after all, Slade would never let him live it down if he accidentally shot himself.

The journey back to the fuselage seemed much longer than the journey there, perhaps because his limbs were beginging to feel the strain of the day's training, or perhaps because he had forgotten to re-wrap his feet and every step caused bracken to scrape along the flesh of his feet, whatever the reason, it was a very tired Henry Queen who returned back to the fuselage, only to be met with a presence in the fuselage that was not Slade.

Henry didn't hesitate, he flicked off the safety of the gun and shot the man in the arm; he would need to find out what happened to Slade after all. A shame; the bullet only grazed him. Oh well, he'd just have to do it the hard way. Henry kicked out the man's legs, and caught him in a rear-naked choke hold, his foot firmly pressed into the crook of the man's knee as he snarled into his ear.

"Where is Slade!?"

"He-nry?!" the garbled voice of the man questioned, and had Henry not been terrified of what could possibly have happened to his father-figure, he might have been able to recognise the voice. As it was, Henry was terrified, and his terror merely fuelled his rage. He kneed the man in the lower back, then the kidney with all his strength, which with his training was rather considerable.

"Where is Slade!?" Henry forced the barrel of the gun against the man's temple, his finger pointed straight, off of the trigger like Slade had taught him to do- never put your finger on the trigger, until you're about to fire, he'd said.

"Let him go kid."

Henry had never been so happy to hear his mentor's voice, giving him an order. Slade stepped back into the fuselage; carrying two make shift plates of meat, and a few tuber vegetables they had managed to find the day before. Henry eased the choke hold he'd been maintaining with one arm, and flicked the safety back on the gun. The man he'd been holding began coughing desperately, and as he rolled onto his side, Henry caught sight of his face for the first time, and promptly froze in absolute shock.

"Are you insane!?" came the desperate voice of the brother he had thought dead for six months, and just as Oliver was about to punch his little brother for shooting him, Slade caught his wounded arm tightly.

"You don't want to be doing that." His voice was ice cold, every bit the man who had nearly killed him before deciding against it earlier.

"Henry, what the hell?" Oliver looked between the man and his brother, who now looked like a soldier, with solidly carved muscle, scars and cuts and bruised, and the gun that was still in his hand.

"You know him, kid?"

"He's my brother." Both Henry and Oliver answered at the same time.

Slade stared at Oliver for a moment, as though considering something only he was aware of, before turning to Henry. "He any good in a fight?"

Henry stared blankly at Slade, before his lips began to twitch and dissolved into laughter at the thought.

"Hey!" protested Oliver. "I can fight better than you at least!"

Slade shared a glance with Henry that Oliver could not decipher, before declaring. "Alright, Oliver." He stressed the younger man's name. "You manage to beat the kid here, and you won't have to do anything. But if he beats you, then you do everything I tell you, when I tell you to do it. Agreed?"

His pride already hurt, Oliver scowled "Yeah, alight." He moved as if to jup right into the fray, before being ushered outside by Slade.

Henry took off his shirt, and accepted the twin sticks offered by Slade, and gestured for Oliver to do the same.

"Sticks, seriously?" Oliver asked incredulously.

"You can always fight without them." something in Henry's tone, and mischievous look unsettled Oliver, and he hastily accepted the sticks.

"Begin!"

Oliver barely heard the barked command by Slade, before he had his ass thoroughly beaten and handed to him by his little brother, ten years his junior. He was on the floor before he knew what happened, with blood streaming from his nose.

"You were too soft, you went easy on him." Slade chastised.

"I did shoot him a minute ago, it seemed rude not to." Henry replied cheerfully.

"Next time you see someone you don't know, shoot them in the head, of the chest, don't wait- that gives them an advantage." Slade glanced down at his protégé, before ruffling his hair "But you did good kid."

Slade walked over to Oliver and offered him a hand up. "Still think you can beat your brother?"

Oliver flushed angrily as the man helped him to his feet. "Don't take it so personally, your brother has a gift and has trained vigorously for six months; you have not."

"How are we gonna take the plane now?" asked Henry "We won't be able to while protecting Oliver."

Henry worried his split slip, his loyalties conflicted. He could not abandon his brother, but he and Slade had worked so hard for this- in ten days they would take the plane or die trying. Henry didn't know how his brother would fit into that.

"Then we train him to protect himself, so that we won't all die." Slade declared, his eyes never leaving his student.

He turned to Oliver "In ten days, the plane arrives, and if it leaves another won't be back for another six months. You ready to go home, kid?"

Oliver's face lost all traces of indignation, and became uncharacteristically serious. "More than."

"Good. Then let's eat and get some sleep, we begin training at oh-six-hundred." Slade made his way back into the fuselage, trusting his companions to follow.

Henry slapped Oliver on his good arm affectionately "Sorry about the whole shooting you thing, you'll get over it, right?"

He too made his way back into the fuselage, leaving Oliver to wonder what the hell he'd gotten himself into, while overwhelmed at the fact his brother was alive. But he had a feeling, an odd inexplicable feeling that from this moment on his life would never be the same again. He too made his way back into the fuselage, and was presented with more food than he had eaten in once sitting in over six months. He guessed it helped if there were two people to look for food instead of only one, well, there were three of them now.

* * *

 **Present**

The room was pitch-black, with a single spotlight shinning in his face. The sound of water dripping echoed throughout the empty room, and the bindings around his wrists cut off all circulation to his hands, his feet were found too- must be a professional. Joseph 'Joe' Keitel had been a Fixer for the mob; both Italian and Russian for over twenty years, and he had freelanced for the triad off and on before retiring into private security six years ago. He never thought that working in the private sector would land him in this situation- he cursed the day he ever met Moira Queen.

"Hello Mr. Keitel." The voice was distorted- a modulator- guy must be a pro.

The steady steps reaching ever closer were deliberate, as if the owner had to remember to make noise when he walked. As his captor came to stand in front of him he was met with the sight of a ghost. Not a literal ghost, mind you. But he had enough contacts in the underworld to know who the most wanted were. The man stood before him was the best of the best, discrete, and with a hundred percent success rate. Didn't take jobs for less than five-hundred-thousand, and was invisible to the intelligence organisations and mobsters alike. You didn't find him-he found you.

The description fit, there were no photos of course, just rumours to go by; the black face mask that covered all but his eyes, the knives and handguns, the black outfit, and most importantly of all his favoured weapon of choice; the duel swords strapped to his back, with green strips of cloth trailing like moth-eaten ribbons from their handles. The man reached and drew the sword from over his left shoulder.

"Mr. Keitel, you will tell me everything you know about Moira Queen, and her conspiracy."

The man placed the blade with and awful gentleness that hid the power of the man that wielded it.

"I can't." Keitel murmured desperate not to move, lest the blade pierce his flesh as he spoke. "They'll kill me if I do"

"And I will do far worse to you, if you do not."

"I can't." Keitel whispered, and closed his eyes resigned.

"As you wish."

Joe Keitel wished he could say that he didn't give the assassin the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but it would be a lie. The moment the blade touched his flesh, Joe Keitel screamed, and didn't stop. The assassin was well versed in prolonging pain, and he would receive no mercy from him. Before he died, Joe Keitel told his captor everything, which was actually very little at all. It would be two days before the corpse of Joe Keitel was discovered in one of many abandoned buildings in the glades, it would be far longer before he was identified.


	5. The Truth That Sticks

**Chapter Five: The Truth That Sticks**

* * *

" **Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime."  
― ****Mineko Iwasaki**

" **Betrayal is the only truth that sticks."  
― ****Arthur Miller**

* * *

 **Present**

Detective Lance rubbed his eyes and threw his pen down across his desk as he sighed. Glancing at his coffee he grimaced at the empty mug, and stood, sliding his jacket on with the discomfort that comes after so long sitting in one place. He slammed the manila folder shut, the images on the now covered photographs burned into his mind in a way that he hadn't felt since his time on the Doll-maker case. It shouldn't have been able to get to him as acutely as it did. After all, every sign pointed to a mob hit; professional, meticulous and leaving no trace evidence.

The victim's fingers and teeth had been removed, the corpse had dumped in the harbour and weighted down. If it hadn't been disturbed the body would most likely never have been found. But there was just something about it, something very odd about this case that set his teeth on edge. It was on the tip of his tongue teasing him with knowledge that was just out of reach and try as he might, Detective Lance just couldn't figure out why his instinct told him not to let this go.

"Hey Quentin." It was his partner, Lucas, calling to him from the door.

"Yeah?" he asked distractedly as he rummaged through his wallet, damn. Not enough for a good coffee, he'd have to drink the cheap stuff from the break room.

"Results came back on DNA. Our vic', he worked for the Queens" Lucas handed Lance the photograph they had pulled from the system, along with his file: he was old-school. He'd worked odd jobs for the Russian mob, for the triad, but nothing that ever stuck beyond a two-year stretch in prison.

"How is I that a career criminal ends up being employed by Moira Queen?" Lance mused aloud

"Oh no, we leave this to Walker and Ramirez, you're not going anywhere near the Queens." Lucas took the file back sharply and blocked his partner's path.

"I'm not handing over my case, Lucas." Lance scowled "I'm just going to go ask a couple questions. You comin'?"

Lucas sighed but put his own jacket on and picked up the file on the murder investigation. "Of course I am. Just keep your calm, okay?"

"I'm always calm."

Lucas stared at his partner incredulously, "Really?"

"Alright, I swear I will this time."

Lucas pointed at his partner "I'm gonna hold you to that."

"Let's just get in the car, Lucas."

The drive to the queen mansion was silent, and for Quentin, it was spent looking over both the file on the body that was found, and the man who it used to be. The man who had been employed by the Queen family for five years, the significance of the time was not lost on him. A man like that, with those kinds of connections was sure to have enemies, but the timeline of events? Finding the Queen boys, their homecoming and subsequent kidnappings, and the supposed 'head of security's' sudden death after the matter? When evidence begins piling up like that, it becomes more than circumstance. It becomes a pattern. Something was going on with the queen family, something deep beneath the surface, and Quentin lance would bet his badge that it had something to do with the Queen boys.

The two detectives were shown into the mansion by the Russian housekeeper, and told that Mrs. Queen would be with them shortly, and to please wait in the living room. So the detectives waited, for some twenty minutes, until the sound of fighting, of flesh striking flesh reached their ears, and with the ingrained reflexes of some twenty years on the job, their guns were out and both men were headed towards the sound without thinking about it.

They turned down the corridor to the next room and were astonished to see a crude kind of training room, with gym mats, thick ropes handing from the ceiling and training dummies along one wall, and worryingly a variety of weapons both wooden and metal along the next.

In the centre of the room stood a shirtless Henry queen, sporting a much shorter haircut than the last time the two men had seen him, it made him look far older than his seventeen years, and drew far more attention to the scar on his face. On the mat below Henry laid an unfamiliar man, dressed in sweat and a t-shirt that identified him as ex-SWAT, he stood abruptly and attempted to attack the boy, only for Henry to grasp an arm around his neck and throw him down to the mat again.

"Again." The boy commanded, even as the older man struggled to catch his breath back.

"I'm done." The man wheezed as he stood up slowly.

"I told you, if you can't beat me then you can't be my bodyguard; it's redundant otherwise." Henry's tone was matter of fact and carried none of the arrogance his words might have implied.

"Look kid, in reality I'm gonna have a gun and you won't so all this," he waved a hand around, gesturing to the training room "is useless. Bad-guys usually have guns."

Now at this point, seeing that the boy was in no danger, both Quentin and Lucas had put away their guns, but drew no attention to their presence. There was a kind of morbid fascination that stirred in Detective Lance's chest, and he watched curiously even as Henry's expression turned stormy.

"Here." The boy said abruptly, handing his opponent a plastic gun, the kind you see in martial arts demonstrations rather than Halloween costumes. He threw the fake gun to his opponent. "Now you have a gun, try again."

The bodyguard stretched out an arm, pointing the fake gun at Henry, "See? I'd just have to pull the trigger-"

The entire thing took less than a few seconds, but to Quentin it was like watching a dance. The movement playing in your mind's eye and even when it had ended you could still picture each turn. Henry disarmed the bodyguard, flipped him over his shoulder once more and held the gun to him, mimicking pulling the trigger.

"You _had_ a gun." He stated

The bodyguard scowled and got to his feet "I wasn't ready, you brat!" he scowled "I was talking to you, and that was a dirty trick."

"Death does not wait for you to be ready." The boy said stoically, before turning away from the man, putting the fake gun back in the box off the edge of the mat. "You can hand your notice in to my mother now, and tell her that I won't be seeing anymore bodyguards."

The bodyguard stormed off the mat, scooping up his shoes as he did so, all the while grumbling how he didn't 'get paid enough for this shit'.

Lucas cleared his throat politely, and drew the boy's attention to them.

"Hello, detectives. Can I help you with something?"

Lucas smiled briefly and held out the picture of Joe Keitel, their murder victim. "Have you ever seen this man, Mr. Queen?"

Henry took hold of the photograph and looked it over, his expression never altered once. "He used to work in the mansion, I believe."

"Used to?" Quentin asked, his eyes never leaving the boys face. It was unnatural, as if the boy had no empathy, no emotional reaction to anything, as if he were hollow, and empty inside.

"I assume my mother fired him, as I haven't seen him for some time." The boy handed them back the photo, before picking up a towel from the side of the mat and wiping his face and neck with it. As he turned back to the two detectives, Detective Lance noticed something completely out of place on a seventeen year old boy, other than the innumerable scars the boy possessed that is.

"That's an interesting set of tattoos." He commented to the boy, offhandedly. "You get them all in China?" the detective waved a hand dismissively, indicating the dragon on the boy's shoulder that wrapped around his upper arm, all the way down to the top of his elbow.

"Some."

"You know it's illegal for a minor to be tattooed in this state, right?"

"I am aware, detective. I won't be getting more anytime soon."

Just as detective Lance was about to ask where else the boy could have gotten tattooed if not in China, Moira Queen strode into the makeshift training room with a face like thunder.

"Henry!" she called sharply "Mr. Henderson was the fifth bodyguard you have refused this week, when are you going to accept this?!"

"I will not have a bodyguard who is weaker than me; he'd just get me killed." Henry's arms clasped behind his back, and unwittingly he slipped into something akin to the pose of a soldier being addressed by his superior. How odd, Quentin Lance thought to himself, his opinion of the boy kept changing constantly and he could no longer say with any degree of certainty that he had the first idea who Henry Queen truly was.

Moira sighed in exasperation "Please Henry, don't be stubborn."

"No, mom," Henry's expression was unyielding "I will not have a bodyguard."

"Very well," Moira conceded defeat, but her eye promised that her son had not heard the last of the conversation. "Please clean yourself up while I talk to the detectives; we have to be at the courthouse in an hour"

Moira smiled graciously to the detectives "I apologise, gentlemen, I was held up with a call to my lawyer's office. Please: let's go into the living room for this conversation."

And so the detectives allowed themselves to be led into the Queen's living room, seated across from the matriarch herself, and asked her the same question they had her son a few moments prior.

"Yes, I do recognise him." Moira said simply "He is my head of security here at the mansion, Mr. Joe Keitel. He hasn't shown up to work for nearly a week now. Has something happened?"

"Why do you ask?" Quentin asked intently

"Because you're _here_ , detective," Moira queen said stonily "and once again I don't appreciate your tone."

"Can you think of anyone who would want to harm Mr. Keitel?" asked Lucas, deliberately speaking before his partner could.

"No, I'm afraid I only knew him in a professional sense, but I believe he has a brother living here in Starling, I could give you his phone number, if you like?"

"Thank you Mrs. Queen that would be very helpful." Lucas once again spoke over his partner.

"Now if that is everything gentlemen, I have to get ready for court. Raisa will show you the way out." Moira stood and opened the employee folder she had brought with her and gave them a business card, it was some restaurant in the glades, it wasn't much; but it was a start.

As they got into the car, Lucas scowled before starting the engine "I can't keep covering for you Quentin, you have to learn to be professional. I get it, you hate Oliver Queen, but stop letting it affect your work."

"Did you see the kid's face?" Lance ignored his partner's speech and kept his gaze on the mansion even as the pulled away from the driveway.

"What about it?"

"His expression didn't change once."

"So? The kid was probably nervous that the detective with a vendetta was questioning him."

"That's not it and I don't have a vendetta, Lucas." Quentin scoffed "You saw the tattoos right? The kid's been inside; those are prison tat's- well apart from that dragon thing on his arm."

"There's plenty kids get tat's without knowing what they mean, Quentin. You're reaching."

"I know what my gut is tellin' me and it's that something isn't right with that kid."

"He was shipwrecked, had memory loss and came back home to a family that has completely changed; anyone is bound to be uneasy." Lucas defended while his gaze remained firmly on the road.

"The kid was actin' like he was preparing for war; he didn't remind me of a victim, Lucas. He reminded me of a perp' who can't see anything wrong with the despicable things he did." Quentin Lance stared into the lifeless eyes in the picture of the man who had once been Joe Keitel "Believe me, Lucas, that kid aint right."

The rest of the ride to the precinct was in silence, apart from the low crooning of the radio that had been permanently stuck on the classic rock station since Lucas had gotten the car four years ago.

* * *

Henry Queen was unaccustomed to wearing such expensive clothing as the grey suit his mother had gotten tailored for him, and habits are hard things to break, especially when they had been ingrained into your psyche as imperative to your survival. Which is precisely why Henry had put on his trousers, belt, socks and shoes before his shirt, it was much easier to fight when wearing trousers- something psychological he supposed.

Just as he picked up the black shirt, ready to put it on, he paused, every muscle tensing was the only warning he gave before launching a particularly vicious roundhouse kick behind him, only for it to be blocked by the arms of his brother, who had entered his room without knocking.

"What do you want, Oliver?" He scowled, and abruptly slipped his arms through the sleeves of the shirt.

"I-" the reply died in Oliver's throat as his gaze locked onto the vicious looking scar on his brother's sternum, and the thick lines of stars inked on either of his brother's shoulders, remarkably similar to his own. Oliver grasped his brother's right arm and pulled the sleeve of the shirt down, revealing the red and black dragon that wrapped around half of the younger boy's arm and over his shoulder and onto his back.

"Yakuza?" Oliver rasped "and...Bratva? What happened to you after the island?"

Henry pulled his arm out of Oliver's grip and shoved older brother back, before straightening the shirt and buttoning it. "You don't get it Oliver. There is no 'after the island', not for me. _I died there._ " Henry opened the collar of his shirt "You _shot_ me Oliver; you shot your own brother, and for what?"

Hurt and guilt swam in Oliver's eyes and he swallowed thickly "I didn't mean-"

Henry laughed derisively "You didn't mean it? This isn't some stupid argument over a TV remote! You fired an arrow, barley an inch away from my heart- you shot an arrow into my _eye_ and what? oops...you didn't mean to?"

"I never intended for it to go so far-"

"You chose Sara's life over mine, what exactly did you intend?" Henry's expression was like the first flash of lightning in a thunderstorm, "You picked up your bow, notched an arrow and shot it, and then you shot another into your _brother._ Your _thirteen year old_ brother. _"_

"It wasn't a conscious decision, I just...I just reacted." Oliver finished lamely, desperation evident on his face.

Henry's face revealed nothing, but his eyes burned with a fury that was unmatched "Every night when I close eyes, do you know what I see? Hmm?"

"No." Oliver whispered

"I see the brother that I loved, the brother I once idolised, point his bow at me, I see the arrows loosed, I feel them tear through my flesh and I remember the fall from the cliff edge. I fall in my dreams and in my dreams I drown. Every night I drown, in my own blood and in the water. Every night, for four years."

"I wish I could take it back..." Oliver rasped "I wish I could Henry- I am so sorry for what I did."

"I don't care." Henry dismissed "I warned you Oliver, I told you it would be different but you just wouldn't listen. What, you think that kicking your ass in a spar makes us friends?"

"I just thought that-"

"You thought that you could do what Oliver Queen does best; ignore what everyone says so that he can get his own way." Henry scooped up the suit jacket, slipped it on and began to style his now short hair, with his back to Oliver. "You can relax, I won't tell the court about your murder attempt against me, I will stick to the story you went over with mom, and I won't say anything about dad."

Oliver, sensing the dismissal turned away from his brother, allowing himself one last shame-filled glance to the man his brother had become. The man he knew nothing about.

* * *

Henry sat on the steps of the courthouse; the reporters were long since gone having paid all their attention to the main group of the Queen family, it had been a simple matter for someone of his skill to avoid both the reporters and his family. Every word that had come out of his mouth in that room had been a lie.

Henry's tie was long forgotten and still inside the courthouse most likely, and he had rolled his sleeves up an hour ago. Scattered at his feet were numerous cigarette buts that matched the brand of the one that lay balanced precariously between his lips. It truly was a filthy habit, but in prisons cigarettes were a status symbol, they were the currency of the realm, if you didn't smoke when you got put away, you damn sure did by the time you got out.

"You know, I hear that cigarettes are like a gateway drug for today's youth." Spoke a deceptively jovial voice that he almost didn't recognise at first.

That is, until he looked up at the face of Tommy Merlyn, stood leaning against a pillar with an expression entirely devoid of judgement, or pity. Henry remembered why he had liked Tommy so much as a child; it was Tommy's calm and effortless way of managing to make everyone around him feel at ease.

"Oliver sent you." Henry took another drag of his cigarette, ignoring Tommy's statement.

"You caught me." Tommy sat down next his best friend's brother who after so many years in close proximity during their childhood, he had long ago come to view as his own little brother.

"I'm not talking to Oliver, Tommy."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Good."

The two sat in silence for a long while, the tension broken only when Tommy accepted a cigarette from the younger boy, and joined him in a smoke.

"I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you." Tommy said "I wanted you to know that if you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. I know it's probably too hard at home, everything is strange to you now, but if you need to, you can talk to me." Tommy's face was uncharacteristically serious "You're like my little brother, Henry. Regardless of whatever happened with you and Oliver, you can always talk to me."

For the first time since he had been home, Henry's mask of complete and utter indifference fell to something other than his rage. Beneath the persona, beneath the bravado, both of which crumbled, lay the vulnerable gaze of the teenager that Henry was. Immediately Henry tore his gaze away from Tommy's and struggled to force his face into an estimation of his previous indifference.

"You shouldn't do that."

"What?"

"Hide away from people who care about you."

"I can't be who they want be to be." Henry admitted

"Then don't be." Tommy replied "Don't be who they want you to be, show them who you are now. Show them the person you want to be."

Nothing more was said between the two, until both cigarettes were smoked and Henry was offered a ride home.

"No, thank you. I appreciate it, but I need some time to clear my head." Henry smiled briefly

"Here, you've got my number, if you need anything you call me okay?" Tommy frowned, clearly uncomfortable with allowing the younger boy to walk home.

"I will, thanks Tommy."

Henry watched with a detached kind of affection as his half-brother drove away in his ridiculous sport car, before taking out his smartphone that Thea had bought him and dialled a well practiced number.

"It's me." he said "I'm in, text me the address."

Seconds later, an address was sent to his phone, and Henry made his way deep into the Glades. Leaving all thought about his family far behind him, along with his suit jacket.

* * *

Detective Lance was sat at his desk, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he desperately combed through the case file of Joe Keitel for the hundredth time, looking for something, anything that would help him find the killer. It was there that his partner, Lucas found him.

"Quentin, get up!" he called out "we've got a hit on the brother, a couple of uni's got wind of an underground fight going down tonight in the Glades, word is Vincent Keitel is fighting."

The warehouse where the fight was being held was a well know address to the SCPD, fights, shooting and trafficking, it had quite the history of criminality. Unfortunately, even though underground fights were unsanctioned, unlicensed and in Quentin Lance's opinion should be illegal; they were in fact not breaching any laws.

Quentin and Lucas had broken up many a fight-night, in search of some lowlife or another, but never before had their quarry been the centre of attention, quite literally strutting around a well-lit stage.

"In the blue corner; your defending champion- Keitel the Ki-ller!" the announcer called to the delighted roar of the crowd. Keitel strutted about the ring, waving his arms up beckoning the applause to become louder. He was dressed in branded boxing gear, the kind you see advertised on late night television on those shopping channels. In the detectives' opinions his success as a fighter most likely came from his enormous height and apparent brawn- the guy looked like a giant.

"And in the red corner, the underdog challenger...Ravager!"

Boos swelled from the crowd as the challenger entered the ring, dressed strangely in grey suit pants, rolled up to just below the knee and barefoot, the Ravager was bare-chested and Quentin Lance's heart dropped to his stomach when he recognised the tattoos.

"You have got to be kidding me." he muttered to himself, and was ready to shut down the fight, if the announcer hadn't just called for it to begin.

What happened next, no one in the room expected- except perhaps the boy himself. Dodging Keitel's rapid, swinging hook punches, the Ravager, Henry Queen, took hold of Keitel's arm as the punch went wild, forced the limb and the man to whom it was attached into the floor of the ring, the sickening sound of bone shattering as the boy broke Keitel's arm in four s places, before mounting the man's downed body and sending a flurry of precise, devastating punched into the head of his opponent. Even after Keitel topped screaming in agony, and was clearly long since unconscious, the boy continued to beat him into submission.

The crowd grew silent. Even as blood pooled beneath Keitel, and the boy had to be wrestled from the prone from of his opponent, silence resonated throughout the room. The announcer stepped hesitantly into the ring.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He called, his voice thick with unease "We have a new champion."

The two security guards who had restrained Henry now handed him a bag of cash and the other raised the boy's arm into the air. Blood ran down the bare flesh and the right side of the boys face was stained with blood spatter.

Deciding that this freak show had gone on long enough, Quentin raised his badge in the air and called out with an authority that almost twenty years of service lent him, "SCPD! Nobody move unless it's to call a god-damn ambulance!"

Surprisingly, everyone complied with the police presence- though it might have had something to do with a teenager utterly annihilating their reigning champion.

Lance made his way over to the boy, and felt a shiver run down his spine quite of its own accord at the look in the boy's eyes. It reminded him of his best friend from high school, after he'd come back from his first tour of duty. Eyes like that didn't belong on a child- neither did the kind of monstrous ferocity that enabled someone to so devastatingly beat another human being half to death.

"You're not gettin' out of this one, Queen." The detective was proud of how even his voice sounded "I'm takin' you in, and you better hope that Keitel wakes up, or I swear to god I will throw the book at you- minor or not."

Quentin Lance cuffed the boy, and escorted him to the door, just as soon as he heard the sirens that indicated the arrival of the backup that Lucas had called for the minute the fight had begun. Henry Queen settled into the backseat of the squad car without a fight, his eyes staring blankly ahead the entire drive to the station.

 **AN- Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers from the last chapter, you made my day! I hope you like this chapter, unfortunately no flashbacks this time. Let me know what you prefer: equal present and flashbacks of alternating. Let me know what you think of the story. Thanks or reading!**


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